


One Long Night

by Adenil



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Incredible Hulk (2008)
Genre: Bar Hopping, Bruce Banner Feels, Homophobic Language, M/M, PTSD mentions, Team Dynamics, Team as Family, Tony Stark more like Tony Snark, Tony and Steve fight because that's MCU canon, hopelessly straight Tony Stark, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-30
Updated: 2014-11-30
Packaged: 2018-02-27 13:33:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2694878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adenil/pseuds/Adenil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At 2:43 a.m. on a rainy Saturday morning, Clint Barton’s fist connected with Bruce Banner’s jaw. The rest, as they say, is history.<br/>*<br/>Or, Bruce Banner and Team have a night on the town. Bruce feels old, Natasha is watchful, Clint's feeling adventurous, Tony needs a wake-up call, and Steve is trying to manage them all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Long Night

**Author's Note:**

> This was actually written in response to a prompt I gave myself. "At 2:43 a.m. on a rainy Saturday morning, Clint Barton’s fist connected with Bruce Banner’s jaw." I wanted to see what would take to get them there, and what would happen next.  
> End notes contain trigger warnings.
> 
> Takes place after The Avengers, but before CA:TWS or T:TDW.

“Are you ready? You don’t look ready.”

Bruce glanced up from his microscope and started to ask a question that was mostly _what_ , but it was quickly muffled when Tony shoved a toothbrush into his mouth and started running a comb through his hair.

“Mnr?” Bruce managed. He spit out the toothbrush and ignored the taste of wintergreen. “What the hell, Tony?”

“Pepper says I have to be better about hygiene,” Tony said as if that explained anything. He was frowning at Bruce’s hair, no doubt confused over what to do with the mess of curls.

“I think she meant _personal_ hygiene,” Bruce said. He managed to take a step back and placed the toothbrush-holding hand against Tony’s chest to stave him off. He ignored the way Tony shied away from the contact. “As in, she wants _you_ to take a shower every now and then.”

Tony frowned. “I shower.”

“The chemical shower doesn’t count.”

“It totally counts! There’s water and soap. It gets rid of the grease, anyway.”

Bruce considered the toothbrush for a moment before shrugging. It _had_ been a while. He brought it to his mouth and started brushing. He leaned against his workbench and spoke around the bristles. “So, why the sudden interest in my hygiene?”

Tony seemed confused before brightening. “Didn’t I tell you? It’s team night! The one good thing to come from Captain Speakeasy is all the annoying team building exercises happen at bars.”

Bruce ignored the gross historical inaccuracies of that statement. “...You expect me to go?”

“What? Of course!” Tony began strolling around the lab, waving the comb in his hand wildly. “You can’t _not_ go. It would make America cry, first of all. Even I don’t want to see that. And when else are you going to get the opportunity to see Natasha drunk? I’ve already got a bet going with JARVIS about how she acts. I’m thinking paranoid super-spy; J says drunken brawler.”

“I bet she’s cuddly,” Bruce said. He finished with his teeth and went to the sink to rinse out his mouth. “But what are you betting? JARVIS doesn’t have money.”

“On the contrary, Dr. Banner,” JARVIS spoke up. “I hold access to all of Mr. Stark’s accounts. However, more importantly, I am given final authority over the color of Sir’s newest car.”

“He wants it to be pink,” Tony said with a shudder. “Can you imagine? I mean, I can rock pink as much as the next guy, but he’s got some weird matte powder pink thing on back order. _Matte_.” He shuddered again and glanced down at the comb in his hand as if he’d forgotten it was there. Absently, he ran it through his hair and somehow wound up looking impeccable in two quick swipes. Bruce frowned, jealous of Tony’s ability to class himself up so easily.

“You know I don’t drink,” Bruce said.

“Sure, sure.” Tony waved him off. “I’ll get you all the Shirley Temples you want. If Happy weren’t the designated driver you could totally do it. I mean, I have had sober friends. It is possible for me to be sober.”

Bruce gave him a look which Tony shrugged off. “Well,” Bruce said, not really feeling like arguing. “I suppose a little time away from the lab would help clear my head.”

“Oh, yeah. What are you working on anyway?”

Bruce perked up. “Well, it’s,” he began, and he and Tony didn’t leave the lab until Steve showed up four hours later looking stern to drag them away from a smoking crater and bubbling beakers.

*

They had about ten minutes to get ready in which Tony shoved him into a pair of pants that should probably have been illegal on obscenity charges, and a purple shirt that seemed exactly like what he normally wore but Tony assured him would get him laid. Bruce didn’t point out how unlikely that was on a number of levels. Tony wouldn’t let him button it even close to all the way. Bruce did his best to ignore Tony’s wink and leer as Pepper sashayed up to rescue him.

“Will you be joining us, Ms. Potts?” Bruce asked as politely as he could. He always felt a little awkward around her, unsure if she took any of Tony’s constant flirting to heart.

“Not tonight, Bruce,” she said warmly. She leaned up and gave Tony a little peck on the cheek that made him smile dopily. “Someone has to keep this company running.”

“And who better than the most brilliant woman in the world?” Tony curled his arms around her and they gave each other sickeningly sweet looks that forced Bruce to look away.

Thankfully, Steve returned at that moment with a disgruntled-looking Clint in tow. Steve glanced over at Pepper and Tony, looking shocked, before offering Bruce a charming grin. Bruce was momentarily thrown, wondering how he’d managed to get on a team with so many beautiful people. Steve was wearing some sort of button-down that would have looked like old-man clothes on anyone who wasn’t built like the penultimate example of human perfection. Clint really shocked him, though, with his t-shirt that fit everywhere except the arms because his arms were ridiculous. He looked like a weight lifter, and Bruce would have been intimidated if not for the strangely adorable bandaid taped over his nose.

Bruce tried not to stare at the bandage as Clint positioned himself so he didn’t have to look at Tony and Pepper making goo-goo eyes at each other.

Steve looked mildly uncomfortable as well. “Natasha says she’s leaving without us if we don’t hurry.”

Bruce started to say that he was ready, but then he wondered if he was. He suddenly felt about ninety years old in comparison to the rest of them. He was going grey already, for pity’s sake. He wondered if he should just slink back to the lab now and save them all the trouble. He started to take a step towards the elevator but Tony cut in.

“Wouldn’t want to keep the scary assassin waiting,” Tony said. He gave Pepper one last kiss and she rolled her eyes at him.

“You think he’s kidding,” she told the rest of them. “But she may be the scariest thing to come through Stark Industries ever.” Bruce found himself nodding along with the rest of them as they all acknowledged that, yes, Natasha was quite frightening when she wanted to be.

Pepper waved them away as they headed towards the elevator. Bruce found himself walking in tandem with the slouching Clint, still trying to shake the feeling of absurdity as he went out for drinks with a team of high-powered superheroes.

Ahead of them, Steve and Tony seemed to have degraded into an argument of some kind. Bruce kept half an ear on it in case it needed breaking up. As such it took him a second to realize Clint was looking at him.

He swiveled around and Clint’s eyes rose to meet his. Bruce felt an icy spike of nervousness shoot through him. “Everything okay?” he asked.

“Sure.” Clint shrugged. He glanced down again. “Nice shirt.”

“Oh.” Bruce wasn’t sure what to do. He wasn’t even sure if Clint was being serious or facetious. They all piled into the elevator and he took advantage of Tony’s distraction to button one more button. “It’s, uh, Tony’s idea.”

“Mm.” Clint smirked at him and the bandage on his nose bunched up cutely. “You clean up nice, Doc. Maybe I should let him dress me sometime.”

Bruce wanted to say _actually, you’re astonishingly attractive right no_ w, but Tony chose that moment to really start arguing with Steve and whatever he was going to say was lost in the inevitable fall-out.

He caught Clint looking at him again twice, though. And he wondered about that.

*

Natasha was, of course, even more attractive than the rest of them even though her clothes were only jeans and a t-shirt. She was leaning against the limo beside Happy, who wasn’t living up to his name and was rubbing his jaw dejectedly.

“Lose again?” Tony asked, clapping him on the shoulder. Happy shot him a dirty glare and opened the door with more force than was necessary.

The inside of the limo was huge, of course, because this was Tony Stark who spared no expense. But Bruce still found himself facing loose elbows and knees as they all settled in with Steve and Tony on opposite sides, Bruce near the window and Clint quite close with Natasha right next to him.

Clint leaned over him and rolled the window down a crack. Bruce gave him an uncertain smile which Clint returned to an almost-blinding degree.

“Where to?” Happy asked once he had settled in the driver’s seat.

Steve leaned up to dig a small notebook out of his backpocket. He tore off a page and handed it through the interior window. “I’ve got a few places in mind. Guess you can take us to the first on the list, if that’s all right.”

“Captain America bar hopping?” Tony asked, incredulous and pleased. Steve gave him a disgruntled look.

“I’m not as backwards as you think I am, Tony,” he said.

“Oh, no, perish the thought.”

Bruce listened to them argue and watched Happy read the list of bars in the rearview mirror. He could see Happy’s eyebrow arch in surprise and he wished he could see what was on that list.

Clint seemed to read his mind and leaned over suddenly, extra close to whisper in his ear, “First bar’s _Jelly on 9th_.”

“I’ve never heard of it,” Bruce whispered back. He wanted to turn his head to see Clint, but it would have brought them far, far too close together for his comfort level.

Clint bumped shoulders with him good-naturedly. “You’re in for a treat, then.” Even without looking, Bruce could hear his grin.

*

_Treat_ was perhaps not the best word, although Bruce wasn’t sure what he could say about it. Besides the fact that it was apparently a strip club.

“Oh,” Steve said the moment they walked through the door. “This isn’t what I— ”

Tony clapped him on the back, effectively interrupting him. “Didn’t know you had it in you, Cap!”

All around them were bodies and dim lights. It was greasy and everyone looked supremely uninterested, and it was enough that Bruce hardly even felt it was real.

Bruce stayed near the entrance, politely waving away a young woman bearing free drinks. Natasha and Clint weren’t far off, both watching with vastly varying levels of amusement as Steve tried to convince Tony they should just leave.

Clint had his hand over his mouth, muffling his grin. Bruce found himself amused by-proxy as Steve eventually just picked Tony up bodily and carried him towards the door. He had a split second where he could have looked away from Clint, but Natasha was quicker and caught him looking.

She glanced at him blankly, and he tried to hide the silly grin that was starting on his face. She gave him a strange look and he had the fleeting suspicion that he was part of an unspoken conversation he didn’t know the language of before she elbowed Clint and they headed towards the door as well.

Bruce almost forgot to follow.

*

The next bar, at least, did not have active stripping. Although some of the clothing choices were...questionable to Bruce. He suddenly felt like his pants weren’t as tight as he’d thought, compared to these people.

And the music was _loud_.

He couldn’t hear anything but music as they entered. He could barely think past the deafening bass, and could hardly see over the flashing lights. Tony immediately shoved Steve into the fray before offering his hand to Natasha, who took it faux-demurely. Bruce watched in abject awe as they began to ballroom dance around the writhing, grinding mass of people.

Before he could slink out because he was so, so old compared to these people, Clint took his elbow in hand and leaned up to shout in his ear. “Get you a drink?”

Bruce shook his head, but Clint merely shrugged and dragged him complaining and hedging into the mess of people.

He didn’t really know what to do. He hadn’t danced since grad school, and never really like this. He tried to follow Clint’s lead, but the other man had an uncanny internal beat that quickly took over. Bruce caught sight of Steve in the crowd with at least six women vying for his attention, and flashes of Tony and Natasha spinning around the dance floor.

When he looked back, Clint had vanished.

He felt his adrenaline spike. There he was, surrounded by fleshy, easily-breakable _people_ and he was alone with no back up plan. He almost bolted but he could barely move through the throngs of people. He could feel his heart beating wildly and he spun around to try and find a quiet corner but a woman blocked his path.

Her hair was all done up to one side, her clothes were revealing, and he probably could have been her dad, but she still gave him a sweeping look and apparently liked what she saw. He wasn’t sure what to do with that. The shock of the realization was enough to stop the slow burn of _angerfear_ , though.

She smirked at him and leaned in, shouting something he couldn’t quite hear. He realized she had two beers in her hand, then suddenly one was in his and she was trying to dance with him but he was awkward and uncertain and he didn’t know what to do with his beer that he couldn’t drink.

Finally, when her back was turned, he melted back into the crowd like a wilting wallflower and disappeared.

Only, you could never truly disappear when you were friends with super spies, and Clint found him hugging the wall and staring at his beer.

“Should’a gone for it!” Clint yelled over the pumping music. He had his own drink which he sipped.

Bruce just shook his head, shell-shocked. “But I can’t dance,” he managed.

Clint watched his lips closely as he spoke, and at the end he broke into a grin. He downed the rest of his drink and snatched Bruce’s forgotten bottle from his hands as well. He set them both aside and stuck out his hand. Bruce stared at it dumbly for a moment before reaching out and letting Clint lace their fingers together.

“C’mon,” Clint shouted, tugging him out onto the dance floor. “Let me teach you!”

Bruce did.

*

At some point, the dance floor cleared enough that Tony and Natasha’s ballroom dancing routine was the center of attention. Bruce was glad for it, because he felt less like his awkward fumblings were being watched.

He still couldn’t really dance, but Clint didn’t seem to mind. Clint just seemed to throw himself into the music, whereas Bruce was too self-conscious of his own body. They were dancing close, with Clint occasionally reaching out and directing Bruce this way and that way, or just providing some grounding in the form of physical contact. It was almost meditative, and Bruce found himself lost in Clint’s easy smile.

He didn’t realize, then, that their little section of the dance floor had gotten more and more crowded until he took a step back and blundered pell-mell into another man.

Bruce turned to shout _sorry_ , but the man was quicker with his glare that sent Bruce quaking with _feardangerbad_. The man glared at him, then flickered his gaze back to Clint before setting his face into a snarl. Bruce didn’t have to be a lip-reader to understand the angry, “Fag,” that flew from his lips.

And suddenly Bruce was _pissed_. He was fucking angry over that word that he probably knew in a dozen languages, because people were monsters the world over. And last time someone had said that to him it hadn’t ended well. For anyone.

Hulk was under his skin, the memory of _protect_ as strong as the flashes of hitting fists and kicking boots and the smell of alcohol was too strong, too familiar, and he was in a dusty alley way in Bolivia. _Maricón_. And he couldn’t let himself hurt them even though they were hurting him.

Only, no. He wasn’t. He was outside in the cool night air and Clint...Clint was holding onto his arm and gazing into his eyes questioningly.

Bruce took a deep breath and let it out slowly, counting to himself. “I’m fine,” he said. He actually sounded fine, too, but inside he was reeling. He looked down at Clint’s hand on his arm and felt his skin prickle at the contact. He had to force himself not to yank away.

Clint dropped his grip. “Tell me about your new gamma shield.”

“W-what?”

“You’re shaking,” Clint said softly. “Tell me about your new gamma shield.”

Bruce couldn’t even begin to guess how Clint knew about that, but he still opened his mouth and let numbers and equations fall from his lips as Clint listened attentively and nodded at exactly the right spots. He never interrupted, just let Bruce work through it as the evening stretched and the music wafted muffled from the bar.

He wasn’t sure how much time passed, but eventually he realized he wasn’t talking to distract himself. He was just talking. He and Clint stood in the cold and chatted about things that didn’t matter until the sky opened up and a light rain began to fall.

Steve stumbled out of the bar soon enough with a bit of pink lipstick on his cheek and a half-dozen napkins with phone numbers on them clutched in his hands. Natasha and Tony followed. Natasha had a bouquet of roses in her arms, of all the things, and Tony took the opportunity to tease her mercilessly. She didn’t seem too bothered. Bruce could feel her eyes on them, but she didn’t comment.

No one else seemed to notice that he and Clint had been outside in the sprinkling rain for so long.

When they piled back into the limo, Clint stayed close.

*

“Wait,” Tony said. “You want to go _where_?”

“Oh,” Steve said. “Have you heard of it?”

Tony whipped his head around the limo to look at each of them as if they held the answer to his confusion. Bruce shrugged at him. Beside him, he felt Clint giggling. Natasha looked extremely unimpressed, but he got the distinct impression she was amused.

“Buh,” Tony said. “Where did you get this list of bars from? I’m picturing you stopping people on the street corner all earnest with your little notebook.”

“Not far off.” Steve looked amused. Clint was still giggling. Bruce gave him a gentle smile. “But I wanted to see if it had changed since my time.”

Tony relaxed noticeably.

“What was it like in your time?” Clint asked. He’d finally gotten his giggling under control. He picked at the bandage on his nose absently.

“Well,” Steve said. “Not sure what you would call it now. Back then it was a queer bar.”

Tony flipped out.

*

The bar was still quite queer, but more importantly they had karaoke.

“Nat.” Clint grabbed at her but didn’t make contact, Bruce noticed. “ _Nat_. Karaoke, Nat.”

“I see it,” she said. “And no, I will not sing _Summer Nights_ with you.”

“But, _Nat_. Karaoke!”

Bruce followed behind them as they sniped good-naturedly at each other. He had his arm up over his head, trying to block the rain from his glasses. He gazed around the little spots of water as they entered the bar. Tony was still giving Steve a look like he’d revealed himself to be Red Skull. Steve, for his part, seemed amused by it all and drifted off towards the bar where he struck up a conversation with a man who appeared to be ninety-percent beard.

This bar, at least, was a lot quieter than the previous one. There were little alcoves to hide in, but the dance floor was still bustling as jazzy pop music blared over the speakers. Bruce took it all in absently, a bit distracted, and nearly jumped out of his skin when Tony suddenly appeared by his side.

“So, Cap is gay?” His eyes were still wide and he glanced around the bar, skittish.

“Tony.” Bruce sighed in exasperation and tried to stand a little further away. “I don’t know. Why don’t you ask him if it matters to you?”

Tony frowned at him. “What else could explain this?”

“Maybe he’s bisexual,” Bruce began, and then found he couldn’t stop. “Or he likes to cross-dress. Or he’s not into people. Or he just likes to dance. Maybe he came here for the drinks, or because he lived just a few blocks down. Which you know about. Why do you always expect him to be backwards? You don’t _have_ to fight with him all the time.”

Tony looked at him incredulously. “Bruce, he is literally from the past.” He fidgeted nervously and glanced around again, the red lights of the bar catching off his skin and giving him a pallid appearance. “Just...wondered if anyone else knew.”

Bruce sighed. He scrubbed at his face. “Just enjoy yourself, Tony.”

Tony nodded curtly and wandered away, pulled like a magnet to the bar. Bruce wondered for a moment if tomorrow’s tabloids would be awash with _Tony Stark forsaking Pepper Potts for Gay Lover_. He decided Stark Industries had handled worse.

“Hey.” Suddenly Clint was at his side. “Do you sing, Doc?”

Bruce felt himself smiling. “Not really,” he said, and judging by Clint’s answering smirk that wasn’t an acceptable answer.

*

Bruce didn’t know all the words to _I Need a Hero_ , and he definitely couldn’t sing in the right register, but Clint was doing well enough for the both of them. He could feel Clint pressed against him, squeezing close to share the microphone as they swayed in time with the music. Clint’s eyes were sparkling beneath the stage lights, and Bruce found he couldn’t look away.

*

“All right,” Clint said, slumping against the table and pointing his whisky glass at Bruce. “Never have I ever gotten a PhD.”

Bruce and Tony both sighed and took a drink—Tony of whisky, Bruce of his coke. Surprisingly, Natasha followed them with a bland smile.

“Really?” Tony asked. He leaned over the table and squinted at her. “In what?”

“Russian studies,” she said, and when Tony gaped at her she rolled her eyes. “No, it wasn’t Russian studies. You’ll just have to live with not knowing.”

“Hmm,” Tony said. He twirled his drink and glanced around the bar. “Never pretended to be someone I wasn’t.”

Bruce felt like pointing out how much of a lie that was, but he didn’t. Everyone at the table took a drink. Steve refused to be interrogated about that. They went around a few times. Bruce had never seen a baseball game, but Steve and Clint both had. Natasha hadn’t ever ridden a train, which was surprising, doubly so when only Steve and Bruce had to drink. Steve hadn’t ever built his own machines, which caused Tony to cry foul and Bruce to take an embarrassed drink while Clint eyed him with interest. Clint was still looking at him like that when it rolled over to his turn.

“Never slept with a guy,” he said, and watched with amusement as the whole table drank, except for Tony.

Before anyone could move further, the DJ came over the speakers. “Last singer on the roster for the night is Frankie.”

“That’s me,” Clint said, slipping from his chair as if he hadn’t just dropped a bombshell on their little party.

“Wait, what?” Tony asked. “Seriously? We can’t just up the ante like that all at once and not question it.”

Bruce examined the bottom of his glass, empty now from that last drink. He could feel his face heating up and he tried to ignore it. He turned to watch Clint sashay away and was shocked when Clint glanced over his shoulder at him, giving him a long appraising look that told him that _never_ , in this case, just meant _not yet_.

Bruce wasn’t sure what to do with that.

*

Clint practically made love to the microphone as he sang _I Don’t Want to Miss a Thing_. Tony was still trying to get them to talk, and it was Steve who finally shocked him out of it.

“Wow, Tony,” he said, sounding so sincere it had to be an act. “I thought you were from the future.”

Bruce hardly heard them. He was watching Clint. He only looked over when he felt Natasha’s eyes on him, piercing and inquisitive, and when he finally glanced at her she offered him a tiny smile and went back to watching with him.

*

Bruce had been wrong. Natasha wasn’t the cuddly drunk, Clint was.

“C’mon,” Clint said again, burying his face in Bruce’s neck as Bruce tried to play it cool. “The night’s young and stuff.”

“He’s right, you know,” Tony said, watching them with interest. He seemed to have gotten over his earlier confusion. A stern dressing-down from Captain America would do that to a guy. “I saw a lot more names on that list. What’s one more bar?”

Steve sank a little lower in the plush leather chair. He seemed just as sober as Bruce (and strangely, Natasha as well). “One more might be nice. It’s more your style anyway, Tony.”

“What’s that mean?”

“Means the cover charge is a hundred bucks,” Clint said into Bruce’s neck.

Bruce sat very still and listened to them talk around him. He was completely out of his element with Clint pressed against him feeling warm and whole and very human. He was drunk, Bruce knew, but he hadn’t kept track enough to know by how much.

Happy adjusted the rear view mirror to grin at them. “One more?”

Steve looked around the cab. Bruce looked with him, taking in the wavering Tony, the cuddly Clint, and the stoic Natasha. She gave Steve a short nod and he nodded back.

“Sure, Happy. One more couldn’t hurt.”

*

This was definitely a bar for rich people. The ceiling was at least five stories high, and was fitted with chandeliers. Bruce immediately felt underdressed. There were _ice sculptures_ , for pity’s sake. He’d never been to a bar with ice sculptures. He caught sight of one shaped like a swan, and two more like little cupids shooting arrows into the sky.

“Aw, dig it,” Clint said. He admired the tiny cupid. “Kid’s form is all wrong, but he’ll get there.” He laughed to himself and Bruce felt himself smile.

“Ugh,” Tony said. “What’s with all these stuffed shirts. You bring me to a boring party, Rogers?”

Steve shrugged. “Guess it was different than I thought. We were lucky to get in.”

“You are all woefully underdressed,” Natasha said.

Bruce turned to tell her that she, too, was underdressed but he came up short. She was no longer wearing jeans and a t-shirt. She’d somehow changed into a flowing floor-length evening gown that allowed her to fit in perfectly. Bruce blinked at her.

“Yeah, she does that,” Clint said. He was suddenly right behind Bruce, brushing their arms together. “Never have been able to figure out where she keeps all her clothes.”

Together they watched as the other three came to the collective decision that they should crash this party. Steve tried to look stern, but he quickly caved as Natasha and Tony tugged him away.

“So,” Clint said. He rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet. “Can I buy you that drink now?”

Bruce glanced over at him, acutely aware of how out of place the two of them looked surrounded by tuxes and evening gowns. “Clint,” he asked as Clint again gave him that once-over that left him shivering. “How drunk are you?”

Clint glanced up at him from beneath his eyelashes. “Not as drunk as I’m acting,” he said, suddenly sounding a hell of a lot more sober. “If I’m bothering you I can, you know. Not.”

Bruce considered for a moment. He wasn’t sure, exactly, what Clint was after, but he found he also didn’t care too much. It was late and the caffeine he shouldn’t have been drinking was thrumming through his system. He found he just liked looking at Clint. Liked hearing the echo of his singing in his ear. Liked thinking of Clint protecting him from himself, so he said, “Sure. One drink.”

Clint broke into a smile. “I’m a bit poor. Water okay?”

Bruce laughed. “That sounds great.”

*

It really was just water.

They curled up at a little table by an ice sculpture of an Iron Man knockoff and chatted aimlessly. Clint kept moving closer and closer between sentences, eyes half-lidded, smile easy and careless. He seemed genuinely interested when Bruce told him about designing a new computer that could hack even JARVIS, and Bruce listened closely to Clint’s stories of Kiev and Botswana and all the places like that.

He must have been in quite the stupor, because he didn’t notice as the crowd began to pay more and more attention to them. His fugitive skills were on the wane, and he didn’t notice as their looks became disdainful.

“Sirs, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

Bruce jumped, immediately on alert as the man in the suit glared at them from behind his sunglasses. Clint reached out and placed a soothing hand on his arm and Bruce breathed a little easier. He wasn’t alone. He just had to remember that.

“Sorry, security man,” Clint said. “We paid the cover and they let us in, so we’re staying.”

“I’m afraid you’re underdressed. You’re disturbing the other guests.”

Bruce glanced over just in time to see a woman dripping with pearls turn up her nose at them. It felt bizarre to see. “Clint, maybe we should just…”

“No way. Look, we’re here with Tony Stark.”

“Really.” The security guard did not sound convinced. Suddenly, as if by magic, three more guards appeared from the crowd around them. “Wow, I’ve never heard that one before,” he deadpanned.

“Nah, it’s true. Just let me—”

Clint cut himself off as the guard reached out and grabbed his harm. It wasn’t a hard grab. Just enough to get his attention, but Bruce could feel Clint stiffen beside him. Like a switch was thrown and he was sitting next to Agent Barton, not Clint.

“Okay,” Clint said neutrally as he slowly slid from his seat. The guard didn’t drop his grip. “You’re going to let go of me, and then we’re all going to walk away.”

“Clint…” Bruce warned. He could tell Clint was trying to diffuse the situation, not escalate it, but it was having the opposite effect. The guard looked pissed off now, his lip curling.

“Look here, you…”

Whatever Clint was became lost as the guard reached out and poked Clint, hard, right in the middle of his chest.

Several things happened at once.

In his head, Bruce felt Hulk roar up suddenly to _protect_ and he had to yank himself away from the situation, shove himself into the deep recesses of _cool, calm, collected_ meditation.

Tony, Natasha, and Steve suddenly reappeared. Steve and Natasha were covered in blue paint and Tony was holding some contraption apparently assembled from kitchen utensils. Bruce didn’t even know what to think of that.

Clint yanked away from the guard, his face twisted in full, desperate fear, and tripped over the chair leg. He went toppling back, into the ice sculpture, dragging it to the floor with him as he fell in a tangle of limbs and ice went scattering everywhere. On Clint’s head. His shirt. His body was covered in ice.

Bruce took in one deep breath, then another, and watched as the three non-involved Avengers exploded into action.

“Clint, are you,” he began, but then Clint was up and scrambling away from the ice, scrambling away from the guard and towards the exit.

Bruce blinked. He took in another deep breath, vaguely registering that Nat, Steve, and Tony were involved with the guards, and then he took off running after Clint.

*

“Clint!”

The rain was torrential now, pouring down over them in buckets as he dashed after Clint. His feet pounded on the pavement, kicking up sprays of water as he he ran. His glasses were already coated and he could barely see to keep up, but he did. All that running from the law, from SHIELD, from the army had done him some good. He could keep up.

“Clint, stop!”

Clint kept running, faster now, his body cutting through the rain as he twisted into an alleyway. Bruce followed one, two, three steps behind.

“Clint, it’s—”

He reached out and grabbed Clint’s shoulder and Clint whirled around and punched him right in the jaw.

It wasn’t a hard punch, but he still whirled back more out of shock than anything. It was shocking enough that Hulk had nothing to say about it besides a vague feeling of confusion that quickly turned to concern as Bruce registered the intense fear in Clint’s face.

“Hawkeye,” Bruce said firmly. “Stop running.”

Just like that, Clint relaxed. He ran a hand through his hair, sloughing water off that was quickly replaced. His eyes were unfocused, face slack with the slow fall of endorphins. “Bruce. Did I…?”

“It’s okay.” Bruce took a step forward. His jaw smarted from the impact, and he had to believe that Clint had pulled his punch. A trained SHIELD agent should have been able to drop him with one punch (the fact that Hulk would have risen in his place was another matter entirely).

Gently, Bruce reached out to touch Clint’s shoulder. He made sure to avoid the place the guard had touched earlier, unsure what had set his friend off. “I’m okay,” he said again. “Are you?”

Clint glanced around the alleyway, shivering. “How cold am I?”

“Cold?” Bruce leaned a little closer. “It’s just the rain. You’re fine.”

“I’m not.” Clint paused. He finally fixed his eyes on Bruce and for a moment Bruce thought he was going to run again, but he didn’t. He seemed to melt under Bruce’s touch and curled against him in a sort of no-arm hug. “Sorry,” he said. “Felt cold for a minute there.”

Bruce had the acute realization that he was dealing with some kind of PTSD. He didn’t know how or why, exactly, but it had to be true. He shook off his own unease and wrapped Clint in a hug. Clint sagged against him.

“You’re not cold,” he assured him. “You feel warm. I’m warm. See?”

“Yeah,” Clint muttered against his shoulder. Bruce could feel his clothes sticking to his body, wet and frustrating. “Not cold.”

They stayed that way until Bruce actually did start feeling chilled from the constant beat of rain. The ache in his jaw faded until he hardly noticed it. Clint was still against him, not even shivering. Gently, Bruce pulled away and looked down at him.

Clint gazed back up. Water pooled across his cheekbones and Bruce absently raised a hand to brush it away, only to watch as it was quickly replaced.

“Hey,” Bruce said, and he was surprised to hear his voice crack. “Do you want to get out of here?”

“Yeah,” Clint said back. He sounded more sturdy than ever. “I really do.”

*

A quick text to Tony confirmed that somehow police had gotten involved, so they caught a cab back. The ride was silent, but not tense, as Bruce gazed out the foggy window at the lights reflecting off the rain.

When they finally arrived, Clint reached out like he was going to touch him but he never made contact. They walked into the tower side-by-side.

“So,” Clint said, breaking the silence as they entered the elevator. “I, uh, sorry about that. Back there.”

Bruce shrugged. “You helped me earlier. I helped you. It’s what teammates do, I’m told.”

Clint glanced at him sideways, like he was trying to decide if that was bullshit or if he should actually believe Bruce. But he seemed to get caught as he looked, his eyes falling to the way Bruce’s shirt still clung to his frame.

Automatically, Bruce glanced down as well, and he had to tell himself to chill out because Clint was truly a perfect specimen. Oh, they might say that Steve Rogers was the pinnacle of human perfection, but here in an elevator with Clint, Bruce didn’t believe them. His eyes swept over the planes of Clint’s chest, the swell of muscle in his arms, the tight curve of his neck before landing on his eyes. Bright blue, earnest.

“Gotta tell you something, Bruce,” Clint said.

Bruce gulped. “Okay.”

“I want to sleep with you.”

Bruce nodded. He’d figured as much, obviously, but to hear it said by the same voice that had been serenading the bar—or maybe just serenading Bruce—was different. He could hear the echos of Clint smiling around heartfelt lyrics in those words.

Dimly, Bruce realized that the elevator had stopped on his floor, and that Clint was waiting for an answer.

“Uh,” Bruce said brilliantly. “I’m not sure I’m the best person to be, um, exploring yourself with. Up until tonight I might have suggested Tony, but now I don’t think he knows his up from his down.”

Clint gave him a strange look. “That’s not what I’m doing.”

“Oh. Okay.” Bruce shifted. His shoes squelched rather unattractively with water. “What I mean is, I have a lot of baggage attached.”

“I know who you are, Bruce,” Clint said. He sounded wry, almost amused. He shivered a little in the cool air. “But I don’t want to bother you. I’ll leave you to alone. I could use a shower, anyway.”

“You’re not a bother.” Bruce reached out to him. Rested his hand against Clint’s arm. “You’re...I just don’t want to promise you something I can’t deliver.”

“You aren’t,” Clint said.

He sounded so _convinced_ that Bruce had a moment where he completely believed him. The skin under his fingertips was cold and clammy, damp with icy rain, so he decided to blame that for his next decision.

“Join me for a shower?”

Clint grinned.

They left their shoes at the door. The walk to the shower room (because of course Tony Stark would have a whole room devoted to just that one thing) was slow and easy. Bruce kept his hand on Clint’s arm, and Clint kept his eyes glued to Bruce.

Bruce really wanted to ask him what he was thinking. He couldn’t possibly think, of all the people that he could get, that _Bruce_ was attractive enough to want to sleep with. He wanted to ask if Clint knew how old he was. If Clint knew he could have anyone in his bed. Instead, he undid the buttons on his shirt one by one.

Clint yanked his shirt over his head with some difficulty, wet as it was. The shower started automatically, and Bruce decided not to think about the fact that JARVIS was always watching. Instead he focused on Clint. On the smooth play of muscle beneath his skin. On the way he bent his head, exposing the long line of his neck, to undo the button on his jeans. On the way he shucked them off without preamble, baring himself before Bruce unashamedly.

Bruce felt himself flush at the sight.

Clint grinned again. “This is a good look on you.” He stepped forward, into Bruce’s space, and Bruce tried to focus on his face and not all the...other stuff. Clint traced his hand over the blush descending down Bruce’s chest and Bruce felt each light touch like a soothing balm against his skin.

“S-sorry,” Bruce croaked out.

Clint glanced up at him, confused. His hand pressed against Bruce more fully; he brushed tiny circles with his thumb. “Why?”

“I’m not…” Bruce didn’t even try to find the words. He just gestured with one hand at Clint. At the beautiful man in front of him with whom he could not compare.

“No, and that’s a good thing.” Clint leaned in. His other hand found its way to Bruce’s waistband. “Can I help you with this?”

Bruce managed to nod.

Clint peeled him out of those too-tight pants, then out of his underwear. “Been wanting to do this for a while,” Clint told him, whispering it like a revelation. “And I gotta say, that shirt you were wearing helped give me the final push.”

“Tony did say it would get me laid,” Bruce said, a little dazed.

“Oh?” Clint raised an eyebrow at that. “This probably isn’t what he was thinking. At least, I hope this isn’t what he was thinking.”

Bruce laughed, and then he couldn’t resist any longer. He reached out and wrapped his hands around Clint’s neck and pulled him in for a kiss.

It was long and slow and languid. Together, they stumbled backward into the shower and Bruce sighed under the just-right spray. Their lips fit together as water poured down around them, warming them.

Clint responded quickly, one hand curled around Bruce’s hip to tug him close, the other smoothing over the furred expanse of his chest. Bruce could feel him exploring, learning, and it made him shiver.

They kissed, chaste as could be, as they pressed naked against one another and began to rock against the wall.

“We have to take it slow,” Bruce said as he pulled back to trail delicate kisses down Clint’s jaw, across his neck.

“Good,” Clint said. His voice was low and dreamy. He tipped his head back to give Bruce better access and Bruce took advantage. He bit down gently, slowly, and worried at the flesh of Clint’s neck until Clint was writhing beneath him, tiny gasps whispered from his lips.

Bruce pulled back to admire his handiwork. Clint sighed sweetly beneath him. He glanced up from under his eyelashes and Bruce felt his heart clench.

“You’re still sure?” Bruce asked.

“Aren’t you?”

Bruce answered with another kiss. His hands roamed gently over Clint’s body, cataloguing and mapping all the places that made him shiver with delight and moan with abandon. Bruce kissed down his neck again, then across his chest. Clint was smooth, compared to him, and the wet water made him positively glow.

He laved the water from Clint’s chest with his tongue until Clint was a never-ending shiver and a constant, begging, “Please.”

He twirled his tongue over Clint’s nipple. The water was too warm for it to stand pert at attention, but Bruce still gave it his utmost attention until he felt Clint’s hand tangling in his hair.

“Bruce,” Clint breathed.

Bruce nodded, because he wasn’t sure what else to do. He loved this, the act of pleasuring another person. It wasn’t something he got to experience often. He kissed Clint’s body again, avoiding the center of his chest that had caused such problems earlier, then trailed down. He felt Clint’s abdominal muscles jump beneath his tongue and gentle teeth, and when he finally got so low he had to drop to his knees he was proud to see Clint full and hard before him.

Clint’s hands in his hair urged him forward, and he went gladly. He trailed his tongue over Clint’s length and felt him throb. Gently, he took him into this mouth just a bit at a time until Clint’s legs were shaking.

“Oh, Bruce,” Clint said, then again. “Oh, Bruce,” until it was a mantra.

Bruce sucked him deep and reveled in the delicate twitch of his fingers against his skull, in the taste of him hard and heavy against his tongue. He toyed with Clint until Clint was keening and he glanced up to see Clint gazing at him, bright blue eyes blow wide with arousal and desire.

“God, Bruce,” Clint said. “Stop, stop, I need to…”

Bruce pulled away but didn’t rise. Clint tumbled down to meet him, kissing him again and again until Bruce parted beneath him and they explored each other’s mouths lazily. Clint just tasted good. Like clean water.

It was Clint who kissed his way across Bruce’s chest this time. Who twirled his nipple in his mouth and gazed up at him, seeking approval that Bruce was happy to give.

“Yes,” he said, and found he liked the word. “Yes, Clint.” But then Clint was moving lower, and Bruce actually couldn’t say yes to that. “Ah, no, not, not that.”

Clint froze and glanced up. “Sorry?”

“No, no.” Bruce pulled him up for another kiss. “You can’t ingest my semen. It’s not as radioactive as my blood, but it could make you sick.”

“Okay,” Clint said, and he shrugged like this was all no big deal. Like he dealt with this all the time.

Bruce wasn’t sure, but he had the distinct impression that no one else would have reacted this way. Tony would have tried to fix him. Steve would have felt bad for him. Natasha, well, she wouldn’t have been here with him, but if she had she would have gotten that steely-eyed look. The look that said they were both monsters and she didn’t like the reminder.

But Clint just accepted him.

He yanked Clint in for another kiss, this one longer, harder, but still carefully controlled as his heart pounded in his chest. He explored Clint thoroughly, tracing teeth with tongue until neither of them were breathing properly and he had to pull away.

He tried to control his breathing, counting his heartbeats as he did so. “Clint, I want to make you come.”

Clint shivered at his words. “Yeah, I’m good for that.”

Bruce grinned. He began to reach out, but Clint stilled his hand.

“Can I do you, too?”

“We’ll need a condom.”

Bruce rose, and Clint followed. They exited the steamy shower holding hands, and Bruce didn’t worry too much about how that had happened. He grabbed a towel on the way and stopped at the foot of his bed to dry his hair.

“Here.” Clint reached out and tugged the towel from him. Ran it over his body with brisk, efficient movements that somehow served to excite Bruce even more.

When Bruce was dry he returned the favor, his hands lingering over Clint’s arm and the sharp bone of his hip. Clint gave him a crooked smile as he blushed, and then they were kissing again. Clint pulled him gently onto the bed as they necked, and he sucked another mark onto Clint’s skin. Then another, since he liked that one so much and it made Clint shudder beneath his hands.

“Bruce?” Clint’s voice was high, thready, desperate.

“Yeah, okay.”

Bruce leaned over and tugged open the drawer beside the bed. It was filled with every sexual aid a guy (or gal) could need, of course, and Bruce carefully pulled out a condom and rolled it over himself. He could feel Clint’s eyes on him as he did it, and when he glanced up Clint was right there. He let out a breath.

“How’re we doing this?” Clint asked.

“How about…”

They rearranged until they were pressed chest-to-chest. Clint’s hands roamed, tracing over his nipples, tugging at his hair, scraping lightly at his sides. Bruce wrapped both their lengths in one hand and squeezed, delighting in the moan the rolled from Clint’s lips and tangled together with his own.

He kissed him again, because really. Stopping was not an option at this point.

They moved together easily, smoothly. Clint never stopped touching him and he never stopped his constant pull as he stroked them both together, felt the heady flush of their bodies moving in tandem. He could feel himself rolling closer to the brink as Clint’s hand scrambled for purchase. He kept up the motions, hard and slow, until Clint let out a choke and yanked his head back to spasm beneath him. Bruce rode it out and soon enough he was coming into his own hand.

Clint’s eyes were closed as he breathed, and Bruce tried to breathe along with him. It had been slow enough that he wasn’t worried, but he still counted his heartbeats until he felt steady enough to take care of clean up.

The condom went in the biohazard bin and Bruce washed himself thoroughly. He returned with a damp cloth for Clint and nearly froze at the look on Clint’s face.

Clint just looked so...peaceful.

“Hey,” Bruce managed.

Clint smiled. “Hey,” he said back.

Together, they cleaned up and Bruce didn’t question it when Clint yanked him into the bed and curled against his side. He just let it happen until Clint was breathing gently against him, face slack with sleep.

*

“Yes, that’s right,” Bruce said. His face was beet-red with embarrassment, he just knew it. “We need to bail out Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, and Natasha Romanov.”

The deputy gave him an amused look. “Just so happens we’ve got Iron Man, Captain America, and Black Widow locked up in the back. You’ve got bail?”

Bruce didn’t question why Tony couldn’t post his own bail. He just turned to look at Clint, desperation in his eyes. “Clint?”

“Don’t worry about it, Doc.” Clint dug into his wallet and pulled out a credit card emblazoned with the SHIELD logo. “I’ve got it covered.”

Bruce watched the boring paperwork for a while until the deputy disappeared into the back. He elbowed Clint good-naturedly in the side, enjoying the glow. “So,” he said. “You are actually loaded, and the water was...what?”

Clint smirked at him. “Wanted my wits about me.”

“Good,” Bruce said. “I like you with all your wits.”

Clint laughed and together they waited for their wayward friends to get out of jail. When they finally did, Steve and Natasha were still covered in blue paint and Tony was positively buzzing with excitement. Only Steve had the decency to look embarrassed.

“Bruce, you should have seen this thing. Only six inches long and it emits sound waves up to—Wait.” Tony glanced back and forth between them like a bloodhound seeking a scent. “Did you two…?”

“Yep,” Clint said, and Bruce nodded along, amused. “Good to know your Stark powers of sex-detection are still functioning.”

Tony broke into a wide grin and clapped Bruce on the back. Bruce nearly toppled forward. “See?” Tony said. “What did I tell you? I totally told you.”

Steve let out a long, slow sigh at the sight. Bruce watched as he turned to Natasha. “I think,” he told her. “That we should not do bars anymore. Too much has changed since my time.”

She arched an eyebrow at him. “What do you mean, Cap? We all had fun. And Thor’s due in town next week. He needs a little culture.”

Steve went positively ashen.

Bruce just shook his head and grinned.

**Author's Note:**

> Homophobic language coupled with a Bruce flashback. Tony being an idiot and unintentionally homophobic. (I headcanon him as hopelessly straight, which shows here.)


End file.
